


Reunion

by destinies



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Based on the Reylo Comic "Maroon" by Selunchen, F/M, Mutual Pining, POV Ben Solo, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies
Summary: re·un·ion • /rēˈyo͞onyən/noun• an instance of two or more people coming together again after a period of separation.• a social gathering attended by members of a certain group of people who have not seen each other for some time.•the act or process of being brought together again as a unified whole.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selunchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selunchen/gifts).



> This is the second epilogue for Selina's comic ["Maroon"](https://selunchen.tumblr.com/post/177417624572/maroon-m%C9%99%CB%88ru%CB%90n-leave-someone-trapped-and) — avidvampirehunter's ["Abandon"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717657) is the first. Check them both out before reading this one for the best experience. 😊

The man they still call Kylo Ren—now _Senator_ Kylo Ren of the reformed New Republic—paces the length of his Coruscant apartment, waiting for his lover to return.

_His lover_. A pair of words he never thought he’d have any right to think, or even say. “Lover” on its own, certainly. Other people have those. Other people have dear ones they embrace and confide in, ones to whom they open their hearts and their beds. Never him. Never _his_. He has always known the path he walks is a lonely one.

And yet.

Has it really only been two standard weeks since Rey slept at his side? It feels like a lifetime. He still turns over in the morning, when the sunlight from Coruscant Prime pierces his flimsy curtains, and reaches out to touch her side of the bed. His hand, five fingers spread wide in search of her, meets only empty air, then the mattress. His only comfort in the morning is droid-brewed caf.

When Rey is here, the story has a different beginning. He reaches over and finds her waist, then pulls her toward him, gathering her to his chest. Her soft skin glows gold in the sunlight, which isn’t too harsh when she is there to diffuse it. Her breasts are like two small, soft pillows that give against his pectoral muscles, but much of her is firm, and wiry. He delights in her topography. She is her own sun, radiant and warm. He kisses between her brows, and he kisses the tip of her nose, and he kisses the pretty pink bow of her lips. She murmurs his given name, tangles her slim, callused fingers in his hair, hooks her thigh over his hip, and he loses himself to her, sometimes slowly, sometimes roughly, sometimes messily, always grateful.

Rey is not here. Rey has been assisting with relief efforts in the far reaches of the galaxy, on planets that were devastated by the prolonged war. Last he had heard she was on Utapau, where small skirmishes still break out between New Republic and ragtag First Order forces stubborn enough to ignore the surrender. “Your mess in the Outer Rim,” she had called it.

_It is a mess we both made, my love, and how unfair that the burden of it should fall upon your shoulders and not mine_.

He would be with her, if he could. He would go in her stead. Then she might be the one safe and sound in this apartment—which feels both too large and empty with her gone and too small and stifling while he waits—and he might be on the battlefield, forcing back troops who had once looked to him as a leader. She is a creature of survival, forged by beating desert suns and grueling routine, but he is a creature of war, shaped by the blades of those who failed to kill him, and he should be the one in the fight.

But his responsibilities are different now. Rey is quick to remind him of this whenever they speak as holograms, her beautiful face semi-transparent, her mouth so near and yet impossible to catch in a kiss. He has to be a leader to those who still follow him, she says. He has to ensure that this fledgling government does not split apart at the seams. And he can acknowledge the truth in what she tells him—after all, what meaning would his surrender have if this new New Republic dies?—while still aching to have gone in her stead. He sometimes hears blasterfire in the background when she disconnects their calls, and sits up sick with worry, probing their connection to make sure no ill has befallen her.

He tests their bond again to make sure she is unharmed, even though he already knows she’s safe. She has not been near a battlefield for some time. She returns to Coruscant today, and grows ever closer. As she approaches, her anticipation, her excitement, her nervousness all crescendo to match his. This is their first reunion after their first parting. Neither of them knows quite what to expect.

All he can do in preparation is pace, and fret, and haunt his apartment, his mind far away, his awareness with Rey. He wishes he could yell his frustrations at a droid, but he sent them all away so he and Rey could have some privacy. He wishes he could punish a target in the training room, rain destruction down on something unable to fight back, but he has already washed, and wants to remain fresh and clean for his lover. Sweat will come later. For now, there is only the wait, and the path from the foyer, through the living room, through the kitchen, a glance in the empty bedroom, and back to the foyer again.

At last, at long last, the waiting comes to an end. The door opens with its familiar pneumatic woosh, and there she is, vibrant even in Jedi browns, a small pack slung over her shoulder. By the dark circles under her eyes, she is exhausted; by the wide grin splitting her face, she is exuberant. She, too, has taken some pains with her appearance: brushed her hair, donned clean clothes, even found the time to darken her lashes on her return trip, on the advice of some fool friend. But she could cover herself in a cloth sack and let convorees nest in her hair, and it would make no difference to him. She would still be the most beautiful being in any room, on any system.

She drops the bag on the floor with a thud, her eyes large and wet, as verdant as the forests of Endor. His hands tremble. His lover, his light, she says the name that only she can call him: “Ben.”

Her shadow, her lover, her Ben—he says, “Rey.”

Then she is in his arms, and all is right in the galaxy once more.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Art by selunchen, colors by [yamstrange](http://yamstrange.tumblr.com/).


End file.
